frugan

Hurrah hurrah it’s my first Mors Dag, or my very first Mother’s Day, Swedish style. The day officially began at 8 am, which was a gift in and of itself, especially considering last night.

Last night I tried to go out to a girl’s dinner party. About 45 minutes after my arrival, in the middle of Nina’s delicious gazpacho, the phone rang. I saw that it was Erik and knew the fun was over. Sigrid had been crying hysterically since soon after I left. I rushed home fighting tears, feeling sorry for all three of us. Poor Siggy, poor Erik for having to call me when I know he wanted to give me a night off, poor me for not getting that night off. But even if I was disappointed, I was glad Erik called. The only way I’ll ever be able to go out is if I know he’ll call me if I’m needed, as much as it sucks to do so.

I came home and Sigrid fell asleep in my arms. She woke up screaming again a half hour after I put her down and calmed a few minutes later for the night. By the time I went to bed at 10:30, I was wiped, and going into my first mother’s day feeling positively motherly on the one hand (what is more motherly than dropping your soup spoon at the first sign of trouble from your baby?) and worn out on the other, which I guess is really kind of the same as feeling motherly.

Today I’ve had more of that motherly mix of sweet sweet love, baby cuteness and “Oh please, Sweetie! Can’t you PLEASE nap in your crib?!” exasperation. I opened my first mother’s day presents on my newly furnished and flowered balcony; I got annoyed that there were no seats outside at a cafe, forcing us to sit inside, which woke up Sigrid; then I got un-annoyed when we found a seat outside and Sigrid let us eat our lovely brunch without complaining; I tried unsuccessfully to get her to go back to sleep in the carriage and then on the balcony and ended up letting her nap in my arms on the bed, which was both a little bit frustrating (I’m trapped!) and cozy (I’m trapped…with a book and a baby!).

Right now, I am treating myself to a mother’s day gift of blogging, with a laughing baby at my feet and a shirtless husband (ooh la la) cooking me potato salad by request. I also have the taste of pre-dinner chocolate cookies in my mouth. All in all, pretty good day, I’d say, minor irritations included.

Thanks, Chubby-Lou, this mom gig is pretty good. And you’re my favorite thing ever.

I’ve spent the last week hanging out with two of the closest girls in my life, Sigrid and Juliet. I couldn’t wait for Juliet to get here. We’ve been friends since our first semester of college, going on twelve years, and have seen each other through stressful exams, a pirate radio show, failed romances, first jobs, career developments, and many apartments. She was one of my four bridesmaids, she’s someone I’ve eaten many english muffins with melted cheddar cheese with and we’ve had our share of teary phone calls. She is one of a handful of girl soul mates that I left behind in America. I miss them all and at key times like this, I miss them like crazy.

I wanted Juliet to get here so we could talk for more than a few minutes, which is difficult with a high-pressure job (her), a new baby (me) and a six-hour time difference. I was looking forward to hanging out in my apartment watching TV and showing her my new neighborhood. Mostly, I wanted her to meet me in my new role of mother and get a chance to talk to her about all the emotions we’ve touched on over the phone since February.

But this visit wasn’t just about me being with Juliet, or Juliet being with me in my new role, it was about Sigrid and Juliet and their future together. After some hemming and hawing, Erik and I decided that we aren’t going to baptize Sigrid. I grew up religious and I’m glad for it. I got married in a church because it made sense in my life, but appreciating the role religion has played for me is a whole different story than consciously passing on a particular organized religion to someone else. So after much discussion, we decided against it — at least for now.

There were a few things about that decision that I didn’t like: no party, no wearing of the baptism dress that has been passed down in Erik’s family, and no official godmother. I could get over the part about the party and the dress but I wanted Sigrid to have a godmother. I know I had a special relationship with my godmother growing up, my cousin Kathy Anne, and I love being godmother to my cousin Patti’s son Sean. I wanted Sigrid to have that special relationship in her life and I knew who I wanted it to be with: Juliet.

When I think of Sigrid growing up, I have no problem envisioning her close to Juliet. I see Juliet taking a toddler Sigrid out in New York, I see her listening earnestly to an awkward adolescent Sigrid and, most importantly, I see her counseling Sigrid as a young woman, spiritually or otherwise. If Siggy needs a second opinion, if for some reason I’m not around (I hope I always will be), or if there is something that she doesn’t want to talk to me about (I hope there won’t be), I have full confidence in Juliet’s ability to listen to, love and support my daughter.

If this little baby of mine didn’t demand so much attention I would have planned a special non-baptism ceremony for Juliet and Sigrid during this past week. As it was, we cobbled together a picnic on Ascension Thursday and made the relationship official. Juliet took some spontaneous vows, ranging from silly (do you promise to give me ice cream even when my parents say no?) to serious (do you promise to be there for me when I need advice?). And then Sigrid baby “walked” across the picnic blanket for a kiss and a cuddle with her new godmother. And so marked the beginning of what I know will be a beautiful life-long relationship. Thanks, Jul.

For a while now, Sigrid has been having small little laughs when she smiles but only this week have those “smiles with noise” progressed into real, no doubt about it laughter. The first time I noticed it was a few days ago when I barked like a dog and she cracked up. I’ve been fruitlessly barking at her ever since. We now know she can laugh out loud but it’s still hard to know what will make it happen, and mommy acting like a dog on Monday was way funnier than her doing it on Tuesday. Yesterday, though, we hit the mother load. I put on some Veronica Maggio, we danced,  and our girl practically guffawed. Luckily, Juliet was here to share the moment and capture it all on video. 

One day (yesterday) I’m crying because I can’t get anything done. The dust bunnies under the bed! The unwritten thank-you cards! The application for citizenship getting grimy on the coffee table! And the next day (today) I’m crying in an entirely different way. Dancing around my bedroom, holding my baby, not caring that her diaper is poopy because right now I just want to dance with her. And the tears start streaming down my cheeks because it’s going so fast and (excuse the Hallmark sentimentality) this moment, this silly dancing, is exactly the kind of thing that I’ll always remember. Sorry, dust bunnies, you are really freaking annoying but you’re not that important.

Happy American Mother’s Day. And happy three month birthday to the reason things are grimy around here, the babe that makes her mom literally cry with love.